


A Touch of Light

by bitriple



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Art, Fluff, M/M, NSFW Art, Smut, Some Plot, Touch, gobb, written for good omens big bang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:34:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22381159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitriple/pseuds/bitriple
Summary: Angels, by and large, do not touch. Demons, by and large, never stop touching.Or Aziraphale and Crowley’s journey with touch through their 6,000 year slow burn.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 31
Kudos: 239
Collections: Good Omens Big Bang 2019





	A Touch of Light

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first time participating in a big bang and I have to say it was a wonderful experience.  
> Thank you so much to the wonderful team that worked on this project with me- my beta Dendy who not only helped me through the little details but also helped me change a good chunk of the story into something that I am far more proud of- and my wonderful artist Claudia (@eriathalia on tumblr) who created the beautiful artwork embedded in this fic.   
> I hope you guys enjoy reading this just as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Angels, by and large, do not touch.

This is not merely to say that they don’t engage in the more intimate affairs, but rather that they don’t touch  _ at all.  _ There are no handshakes in heaven and one hardly has to help another up when corporeal forms don’t exist. When two angels walk side by side, they leave enough space that even their wings won’t brush if they suddenly have to launch into flight. And angels simply do not stumble into one another, no matter how crowded the cloud they dwell on is; they are exactly as clumsy as they need to be which is to say not at all.

The only touch Aziraphale had ever felt in heaven was in the very beginning when he had just come into existence. He was handed a sword and given orders.  _ Training  _ they called it and Aziraphale found he was built for it. His sword seemed to move as if it had a mind of its own, slashing and cutting and striking exactly where it needed to every time.

A holy sword couldn’t cause any  _ true  _ harm to an angel, but She must have wanted to make an impact. When Aziraphale first made contact, he stopped dead at the sight of golden light leaking from the essence before him, dripping downwards to the clouds below. He reached out, almost instinctively, towards the other angel. He had just been created and he didn’t know exactly what it meant, but the angel was  _ hurting  _ and Aziraphale had caused it.

The angel twisted away before Aziraphale could touch him. It was one of the Powers, Aziraphale could see now, in charge of Principalities like him. “Get back to work,” he snarled, the fury in his voice making the sky shake.

Next time when Aziraphale’s sword struck he didn’t stop.

Time was a strange thing in heaven. It didn’t move quite like it did on Earth or on any physical plane really. It was impossible to put it into precise measurements, but Aziraphale could say there was an awful lot of it between his first set of “training” and the moment he touched again.

Eden was almost more beautiful than he could take. Aziraphale had spent his first day in the garden simply  _ looking.  _ Heaven was beautiful, in its own right, but there wasn’t much to look  _ at _ . White walls and white floors and white clouds, broken only by the golden glow from the angels around him. But here there was so much- colours Aziraphale had yet to even imagine and smells and tastes beyond his wildest dreams. The ground was soft beneath his bare feet and the sun warmed his skin in a way that the heavenly glow never did. 

On the third day, Adam and Eve were created. They had only been on Earth- only been in  _ existence _ \- for a matter of seconds when they touched for the first time. Eve wrapped her arms around Adam and Aziraphale almost ran at them. “Stop!” he wanted to yell. “You can’t do that, that’s not  _ allowed _ .” But as Adam’s arms tightened and there was no call from above, no shaking ground or hellfire to swallow them up, the strangest feeling settled over Aziraphale.

Of course, humans were not bound by the laws of heaven. It was silly to expect them to be and yet as Aziraphale watched them there was an ache in his chest that felt almost like pain.

Aziraphale had expected to hate the demon, this  _ Crawly  _ fellow. Just looking at him sent a shiver down his spine. Even out of his serpent form, there was something about the sharp angles of his face and the unnatural bend to his body that put Aziraphale on edge. But there was something pleasant in his voice and he didn’t treat Aziraphale as he expected.

“You’re an angel. I don’t think you  _ can  _ do the wrong thing.” It took Aziraphale nearly two centuries on Earth to realize that Crawly had maybe been, the slightest bit, sarcastic in the moment, but as sarcasm had yet to be introduced to heaven the words filled him with a glowing warmth.

“Oh thank you,” he gushed.

Aziraphale wasn’t sure if it was this kindness that made him lift his wing for Crawly when the storm began, or if it was something else. A more ancient instinct, the same one that made him hold his hand out to that injured angel and the one that would later move him to save the world. All he knew was that as he did, he felt the slightest brush of his wing against Crawly’s. The touch was feather-light but Aziraphale’s body went rigid all the same.

This was it. He waited for Crawly to recoil, to give him that same disgusted look he had seen at the start of his existence. Instead Crawly shuffled closer beneath the cover of Aziraphale’s wings. He hardly even  _ looked  _ at Aziraphale, so casual in the movement that it was as if they had done it a million times before, and Aziraphale felt something shift inside of him.

_ Oh _ , he thought.  _ Demons must have different rules too. _

Crawly’s feathers brushed against Aziraphale’s and lingered there, resting with the lightest contact that burned like a million suns. Down below them in the desert Adam grabbed Eve’s hand and Aziraphale smiled.

Touch was much more common on Earth than it was in heaven. The first time someone, Abraham in fact, had held out his hand for Aziraphale to shake Aziraphale had stared at it for an inordinate amount of time, before awkwardly grabbing and squeezing it. He let go when Abraham did, and ignored the odd look the man gave him as he stepped away. It was far from the first misstep Aziraphale had made among humans, yet it lingered with him for days, long after he had learned the proper way a handshake worked.

When he saw Crowley again, over half a century since he had last seen him, the first thing he did was shake his hand. “A pleasure to meet you, angel,” Crowley said sarcastically, but his fingers brushed against Aziraphale’s palm as he slid away.

The demon and him danced around with touch through the centuries. It was rare that Crowley actually touched him, but he always stood close enough that it was nearly enough. And if their hands brushed when they walked or their legs pressed, ever so lightly, together beneath the table where no one would see, well then that was no business but their own.

The faint and almost-just-quite touches were enough, until they weren’t and Crowley decided to take a century long nap leaving Aziraphale lost. He found his eyes lingering on couples walking down the street holding hands, the ache that had been simmering just below the surface rising back up even stronger now that he knew. Crowley and him had hardly done more than share a few handshakes throughout the centuries yet without him Aziraphale  _ craved  _ touch, needed something to remind him that he was here and present and well… loved was the word for it, but Aziraphale wasn’t ready to admit that to himself yet.

In a moment of desperation Aziraphale found himself hovering outside the door to a discrete gentleman’s club. He had heard about it from word of mouth, as these things usually went, and had spent nearly a decade working up the courage to go.

Aziraphale straightened out his already miracled- straight suit and took a deep breath.  _ Just try it, at the very least _ he told himself.  _ Almost every human thing you have tried has worked out- sushi, theater, wine… _ Aziraphale jumped at a touch on his shoulder, wheeling around to see a young man smiling at him.

He raised an eyebrow at Aziraphale’s reaction, but held his hand out all the same. “First time here?”

“Oh… um yes, I suppose so,” Aziraphale stuttered thinking of all the times he had made it up to this very door before turning around.

If the answer was strange, the young man didn’t mention it. “I’m sure you’ll love it.” His gaze traveled up and down Aziraphale’s body and he could feel his cheeks burning. “You look like a natural.”

The young man-  _ Alfonso-  _ was right. Aziraphale  _ did  _ love the gavotte.

It was a lot to get used to. Aziraphale was overwhelmed by the mere contact of the other men’s arms in his and the first time they reached the end of the dance Aziraphale had to stumble away. He watched all the men press their lips together, as casual as breathing. There was a strange sensation in his body, a burning that he had only before felt when Crowley brushed up beside him. Alfonso came up to him and Aziraphale flushed even further. “I’m sorry I didn’t... I don’t…”

If Aziraphale required oxygen he surely would have passed out as Alfonso grazed a hand over his chin and pulled him closer. His lips barely brushed over Aziraphale’s and he let out all the air in his body in one rush, feeling dizzy. “Just give it a try,” he murmured, so close that Aziraphale could  _ feel _ his breath.

After that, Aziraphale took to the gavotte like ducks to water. For a few hours a week he found he could forget all about that uncomfortable ache beneath his skin, that longing for something that he could never have. He grew to know the men as well as any humans he had ever known and when, one night, he was invited for drinks afterwards like a... a  _ friend  _ Aziraphale couldn’t help but say yes.

Which somehow ended with him pressed against the brick wall in an alley, Alfonso’s tongue down his throat. There was so much sensation that Aziraphale could hardly make sense of it- the pleasant warmth of the alcohol merging into a burning so bright that Aziraphale felt like he was about to burst into flames. He had kissed and been kissed half a hundred times now but none of them had felt anywhere near this- the incessant press against his mouth almost as if Alfonso was starving and Aziraphale was the only thing that could feed him.

Alfonso’s hands were tangled in his hair and his body was one straight line against Aziraphale’s- hard and unyielding. There was a pressure in the pit of Aziraphale’s stomach and when a moan fell from his lips without his permission he felt like he had been dosed in cold water.

Because suddenly he realized what this feeling was- the one he got when he danced side by side with the men, so close that their skin brushed in every twist and turn. The one he got when Alfonso stared at him with a smirk or when his gaze lingered on Aziraphale’s lips, a strange longing there. And most importantly the one he felt with  _ Crowley _ almost always, the mere sight of him inspiring it and it only growing with the shared laughs and glances and touches.

_ Lust _ . Aziraphale was feeling lust.

He pushed Alfonso away so hard that he stumbled backwards. Aziraphale couldn’t take in the hurt expression on the man’s face, couldn’t feel the slight burn from where he had tugged at his hair stumbling away, because he was too busy turning into the alley. “I’m sorry,” he said over his shoulder, his heart hammering so hard he could hardly hear himself. “I just… I can’t…”

Aziraphale didn’t return to the gentlemen’s club after that. He in fact spent the better part of the year in a different country, as far away from London as he possibly could. By the time he came back the gentlemen’s club had closed down- about time, he could hear his neighbors mutter to each other. They didn’t want that sort around here, anyway.

The itch under his skin grew stronger as the years went on. It was worse, even, than before. It seemed that the more Aziraphale experienced touch the more he  _ craved  _ it and now that he no longer had his discreet gentlemen’s club to soothe the burn, it  _ ached _ .

But Aziraphale made do. He had his books and his wine and his customers to chase away. He had miracles to perform and demons to  _ not  _ think about. And when Crowley finally,  _ finally,  _ came back if Aziraphale let his leg press against him when they sat on the bench side by side, well no one could blame him for a single moment of weakness.

The years came and went and their dance was much of the same- grazing touches and longing glances. It had become impossible to deny that the demon felt  _ something  _ for him even if Aziraphale couldn’t puzzle out exactly what it was. It was there in the way Crowley was there at every turn- to protect him, save him. It was there in the small offers (“anywhere you want to go”), in the dinners and the wine afterwards, in the look in his eyes the few times he shed his sunglasses in front of Aziraphale. It was there in the touches, too, and it was enough.

Until the apocalypse happened and Aziraphale did a lot more than touch Crowley. He  _ became  _ him if only for a day. The thing about possession was that even when the soul has left, there were some things that the body remembered. When Aziraphale in Crowley’s body laid eyes on himself- a sensation he would never get used to- he felt something. His skin burned, burned in the way it had every time Aziraphale laid eyes on Crowley stretched out nearly to the beginning of time. Aziraphale almost tripped over Crowley’s impossible legs, forgetting the saunter he had practiced all night at the sudden burn it brought to his stomach.

The six thousand years of words and favors and touches suddenly took on a new meaning. Aziraphale settled onto the couch beside Crowley, leaving a bit of space. He needed to think and he needed to be in his own body to do it.

It was after switching back, after the dinner at the Ritz, and after they had downed quite a few bottles of wine in celebration of the apocalypse-that-wasn’t and their near deaths-that-also-weren’t when Aziraphale found the words.

“Crowley, you know that…” Aziraphale’s carefully planned speech was forgotten the moment Crowley looked up at him. He had shed his sunglasses and was sprawled next to Aziraphale on the couch, half of his body resting against the back while the other half was perched on his elbow leaning into Aziraphale’s space. They weren’t quite touching, but they were close and Aziraphale felt the impact of the moment hit him.

_ Six thousand years. I’ve been waiting for this for six thousand years _ .

His throat was so dry Aziraphale could barely breathe. He cleared it and tried again. “I don’t know if you felt it, you must have if it was anything like your own, but…” He was babbling, but Aziraphale couldn’t help it as Crowley’s eyes burned into his own. “When we switched bodies, when I looked at you- or rather myself I- well the body remembers you see- and there was this feeling-”

And then Crowley was kissing him.

It was just as overwhelming as the first time. All the thoughts fled Aziraphale’s mind and all he could think about was soft lips and the  _ heat  _ radiating off Crowley, so intense that Aziraphale felt like he was  _ melting. _

Crowley reached up to cup Aziraphale’s jaw, tilting his head  _ just so  _ and Aziraphale moaned.

Crowley made a noise too, low in his throat. He pulled back, panting desperately into the space between them and Aziraphale would have teased him for the fact that they didn’t need oxygen, if he wasn’t too breathless to speak.

“Sober up.” Crowley said once he had caught his breath. They were still hovering only inches apart and his voice was rough and deep and  _ wrecked _ . “Angel I-”

Aziraphale squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the odd sensation of alcohol rushing backwards through his veins, draining into the empty bottles on the table. Beside him, Crowley did the same. When Aziraphale blinked his eyes open Crowley was already staring at him, his eyes wide and filled with a cautious hope that took Aziraphale’s breath away all over again.

“Is this just… Do you just want…” He tried and failed to start the sentence several times over. Aziraphale put a hand on his, gently winding their fingers together and Crowley froze. He looked almost frightened as he stared at their intertwined hands as if they held all the secrets of the universe.

“I want  _ everything _ , my dear,” Aziraphale said softly. “Everything you want to give.”

“Oh,” Crowley said faintly, sounding as though he was only moments from passing out. “Oh, uh, good because you know, I want that, I want that too.”

This time, it was Aziraphale that closed the space between them. He kissed Crowley softly and the demon made a noise like he was in pain. Aziraphale pulled back. “The bedroom, perhaps, my dear?”

Aziraphale couldn’t help but being amused by the look Crowley gave him, like he was seconds away from discorporating. If Aziraphale hadn’t known better- from the demon’s incessant bragging and the ungodly marks he used to show up to meetings with, covering every imaginable scrap of revealed skin- he would think Crowley as innocent as him. 

“It’s like you’ve never done this before,” he teased as he tugged a boneless Crowley to his feet, looking for all the world like he had just been drugged. Lovestruck, was the word for it, and Aziraphale felt giddy with the thought.

“Never with you, angel,” Crowley gasped. “‘S different.”

It was rather difficult trying to walk backwards up the stairs while certain wandering hands were doing their absolute best to disrobe you. Crowley managed to get off the jacket, bowtie, and half the buttons of Aziraphale’s shirt by the time they reached his bedroom.

If Aziraphale had felt at all nervous about revealing his stomach-  _ soft _ Gabriel had called him- it disappeared at the reverent look on Crowley’s face as he pushed his shirt roughly from his shoulders. He ran a gentle finger down Aziraphale’s chest then followed the path with his mouth- sucking and nipping until Aziraphale’s hand buried itself in his hair, leaning into his touch. The press of hands unbuttoning his trousers knocked Aziraphale back to the present.

He must have stiffened because Crowley looked up, yellow eyes swallowed with lust. “Too fast?”

“Ah- I think I just need a moment to wrap my head around it,” Aziraphale said, collapsing back onto his elbows. He couldn’t help but giggle, positively giddy, drunk on the burn in his stomach and the look on Crowley’s face as he stared at him as if Aziraphale was  _ everything _ . And perhaps that was the way Crowley had always looked at him, and this was the first time Aziraphale was noticing. “Let’s start with you.”

Aziraphale had seen Crowley naked before- there had been the pools in Rome and the arenas in Athens and half a hundred injuries cured with miracles that shouldn’t have been possible- but never like this. In the soft, evening light streaming through the window Crowley’s pale skin looked almost blue, the sharp angles of his body made sharper with shadows. Crowley bent into his touch as Aziraphale traced the lines with his fingers. He let out a shuddering breath, “Angel.”

The feel of soft skin beneath his fingers was  _ intoxicating,  _ making his thoughts thick and slow-moving like a glass of wine on a warm summer day. Aziraphale couldn’t drag his eyes away, overwhelmed by how right it felt.

“I’m not-” He cleared his throat and let out a nervous laugh. When he met Crowley’s eyes they were  _ burning _ . “I’ve never… I’m not quite sure how to proceed, my dear.”

He knew in theory, of course. He had read quite a few stories and even made an effort on his own but merely touching himself, the few times he had attempted it, had seemed too taboo- something so terribly wonderful that Aziraphale didn’t dare try it for fear he wouldn’t be able to stop. But here was Crowley- flushed and panting in front of him and Aziraphale  _ wanted _ .

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, angel,” Crowley said breathlessly. He was hard and his yellow eyes were blown wide with desire, but still he offered him a way out. Aziraphale felt his heart melt.

“I  _ want  _ to,” he said, reaching out to press his palm flat against Crowley’s lower stomach. The sharp inhale sounded almost painful in Crowley’s throat. “Can you teach me?”

Crowley nodded. He reached for the zipper of Aziraphale’s trousers and Aziraphale grabbed his hand. “Teach me on your body.” Crowley looked surprised. “I’ve been waiting to touch you for so long, my dear. Please, let me take care of you.”

“You sure?” Crowley’s voice was raspy.

Aziraphale nodded, “Certain.”

Crowley searched his eyes for a moment. Seeming satisfied with what he found there, he gently wrapped his fingers around Aziraphale’s hand and dragged it downwards.

The skin was soft and warmer than Aziraphale had imagined. As he circled it Crowley let out a breathy gasp and his eyes shuttered closed. His grip tightened almost painfully on Aziraphale’s as he began to move it up and down.

“Just… like… that,” Crowley panted, letting his hand fall away. Aziraphale kept up a steady rhythm, hardly daring to blink as he drank in the sight of Crowley. He wasn’t sure where to look- between Crowley’s parted lips and the pale pink flush running down his neck, every part of him was  _ perfect _ .

He felt it, the exact moment when Crowley began to lose control. His breath, which had been growing faster and more unsteady, broke off completely in a low moan. His hands reached blindly for Aziraphale’s shoulders, gripping so tight that he was nearly certain there would be finger-shaped bruises there the next day. His body began to thrust, erratically, into Aziraphale’s palm and Aziraphale moved his hand faster.

Crowley’s knees buckled the moment he reached his peak. Aziraphale barely managed to shoot a hand out to steady him, the other hand busy stroking him through it. He let out a gasp that sounded almost like Aziraphale’s name and collapsed on top of him.

Aziraphale expected it to be a little gross- the mess of it, being covered from the wrist down to his elbow in Crowley’s  _ fluids,  _ but he found he couldn’t be more wrong. As Crowley panted against him, shifting so he was sitting half in Aziraphale’s lap, he let out a small, breathy laugh. His knee pressed into the space between Aziraphale’s thigh with a light pressure that made Aziraphale suddenly all too aware that he had never been harder in his life. “That turn you on, angel?” he murmured, his voice rough around the edges.

Aziraphale could barely breathe. Instead of answering the question, he let his eyes slip shut and his hands cup Crowley’s sharp hips. He only had to move his body forward half an inch until he was pressed against Crowley’s thigh.

The first thrust he tried was small, yet the sensation was overwhelming- a shot of warmth that radiated through his entire body. Crowley made a choked noise like he had been the one to move and gentle hands on his cheeks forced Aziraphale’s eyes open. “God you’re beautiful,” Crowley breathed out, sounding desperate with the admission, as if he had waited his entire life to say it. “Can I…  _ please _ .”

Aziraphale trembled as Crowley reached between them. He moved slowly, so slowly that Aziraphale wasn’t sure if he wanted to push forward or pull back, suddenly frozen in the severity of the moment. Old instinct tugged at him and for a moment he felt the familiar panic threaten to swallow him; the thought that this was  _ wrong _ .

Crowley paused, looking uncertain, “Angel?”

This didn’t feel wrong. Aziraphale thought of Adam and the arrangement and every choice him and Crowley had made that defied the laws of heaven and hell, stretching back to their first meeting in Eden and the tempted apple and gifted sword. They had been right then, Aziraphale  _ knew  _ it, and they were right now.

He had paused long enough that Crowley was beginning to pull back so Aziraphale surged forward and crushed their mouths together. It was so powerful and just on this side of too clumsy that it nearly sent them tumbling off the bed, but there was only a moment before Crowley pushed back, reasserting the warm pressure between Aziraphale’s legs and burying his hands into his hair.

“Yes,” Aziraphale finally answered in a gasp, as Crowley kissed down his neck. “Please, I  _ need  _ you.” Crowley’s fingers were shaking as they moved back to Aziraphale’s fly and after fumbling for a moment he swore and snapped, leaving Aziraphale completely naked beneath him.

He wrapped his hand around Aziraphale gently, far gentler than Aziraphale had been with him, but the touch still took his breath away. Aziraphale buried his head into Crowley’s neck, panting desperately into the heated space between them. His fingers scrambled for purchase gripping Crowley’s hips hard as if it was the only thing keeping him from being swept away. Aziraphale was faintly aware that he was babbling- pressing words into Crowley’s skin as he stroked him soft and so slow that it felt as if he had stopped time itself.

His orgasm hit softly, like the flow of a tide, the heat in his stomach bubbling up until it crashed over leaving Aziraphale  _ lost.  _ He was vaguely aware of words spilling out of his mouth, unbidden- of  _ yes’s  _ and  _ please  _ and  _ I love you, oh god I love you _ .

It felt like minutes, before he was able to forcefully pull himself back into his mortal senses- the feeling of Crowley pressed against him- hot and just a little sticky and  _ his _ . Crowley hadn’t said a word and when Aziraphale pulled back he could see tears spilling silently from Crowley’s wide eyes. “You love me?”

The question sucked all the air from Aziraphale’s lungs in a rush because how couldn’t Crowley have  _ seen  _ it, written on every feature of their lives stretching back for as long as Aziraphale could remember. A million memories jumped to Aziraphale’s mind, of dinners hidden in the shadow of backrooms and clandestine meetings at the park, of running into Crowley again and again all over the world as if there was some force drawing them together, something ineffable yet  _ undeniable _ . He took in the vulnerable look on Crowley’s face and said, “Of course. Of course, Crowley, I’ve loved you longer than time itself.”

Crowley opened his mouth, probably to remind him that neither of them had  _ existed  _ before the birth of time, but Aziraphale rushed in to steal the words. He kissed Crowley softly, tenderly, and before the demon could return it, he pulled back to kiss the tears from his cheeks, moving again to glance across his brow and press a soft kiss to his ear. Crowley was giggling by the time he finished, squirming away from the gentle touches.

“Stop,” he gasped out between a laugh, his entire face as red as the beaming smile that he couldn’t seem to hold back. “Angel, I get it.” Aziraphale pulled back and Crowley’s voice dropped. “And you know I uh… feel the same way about, you know…” He waved a hand between them and flushed impossibly further.

“I’m afraid I don’t, my dear. You’re going to have to be more specific.”

Aziraphale couldn’t hold back a smile at the pout Crowley gave him. The words were mumbled so softly that if Aziraphale didn’t know exactly what Crowley was going to say, he wouldn’t have understood him, but he surged up to kiss him again all the same. “I love you too, angel.”

——

Demons, by and large, never stop touching.

The thing about Hell is that it is  _ crowded _ . It is a lot of work, carving out a home among pools of boiling sulphur and chunks of burning rock. Demons are constantly in each other’s space- if not accidentally banging into each other in the cramped corridors then doing it intentionally. One of Hell’s favorite pastimes is fighting over food or alcohol or most often nothing at all.

And then there were the more… intimate affairs. Crowley was hardly a stranger to sex. In the beginning he had even taken part in it himself. It was just after the fall and he was lonely and frightened and sex had been something of a comfort. The only comfort they had left. At first sex had been closer to what humans would later call making love- soft and careful, the gentle cling of bodies to one another as they searched desperately for a moment where they could forget.

Over the years it had grown darker, more violent. More of a display of dominance than anything else. Crowley had pulled away early on, as soon as the touches stopped becoming soothing and started to hurt. It drew questions. Crowley did his best to dodge them, but he was worn so thin that being sent to Earth was a welcome relief.

He watched the first two humans make love on his first day in Eden. He hadn’t meant to, really, he was rather busy exploring the garden when he’d heard some strange noises and gone to investigate. Adam and Eve were locked in an embrace that was not dissimilar to what Crowley recalled from just after the fall. He moved to turn away, but something kept him frozen there. Maybe it was the softness in Eve’s eyes or the way that Adam kissed her forehead after he finished inside her, so tender that his lips barely brushed the skin, but suddenly Crowley missed it. It had been the equivalent of decades since he had last been touched like that and while Crowley had no interest in any of the rotten beings that surrounded him in Hell, it didn’t make the ache in his chest any easier to bare.

As much time as he spent watching Adam and Eve, there were other, far more interesting creatures to be found in the garden of Eden. Crowley watched the flowers and the trees, the birds and the insects, all the tiny creatures scuttering through the underbrush. Most of all, he watched the angel.

He had known that an angel was going to be there, of course. Hell had told him when they’d given him his assignment. But knowing and seeing were two different things altogether and the first time Crowley laid eyes on this angel he was very grateful for the fact that his newly formed lungs didn’t, in fact, actually  _ need  _ oxygen.

It had been a thousand years since he had seen an angel. He couldn’t see much as the angel was up on the gate, looking down for wily serpents like him, Crowley supposed, but even from this far he could tell he was  _ beautiful _ . A mess of blonde curls circled his head like a halo and his bright-white wings caught the sunlight just right that they glowed as if he was lit by the heavens themselves.

Crowley spent much of his days tracking the angel’s movements. He spent most of his time pacing the wall, a flaming sword clutched in his hand, but ever so often he would fly down to walk among the garden. Crowley watched from the tops of trees and enclosed in tangles of bushes. He had been wildly underestimating the angel, he decided, when he finally got a good look at him. With piercing blue eyes and a soft, easy smile he wasn’t beautiful-- he was  _ radiant _ .

Crowley couldn’t help himself. He was a demon, after all, and in a manner of speaking he’d been kicked out of heaven for lacking the self-control to keep his damn mouth shut. He slithered up the wall and transformed beside him, watching the angel stiffen. He half expected a flaming sword to be shoved between his ribs but all he did was give Crowley a wary look.

Where was that flaming sword anyway? Crowley voiced the question, if only to drown out the rather boring spiel of “it’s the great almighty’s plan it’s not for us to understand”. Aziraphale’s words stuttered to a halt in his mouth and he looked away.

“I gave it away,” he muttered to the ground.

“You  _ what? _ ”

“I gave it away!” Aziraphale cried giving him a rather pathetic look. “There are vicious animals out there and she’s expecting.” As he spoke a lion stepped above a hill of sand, and Adam held his flaming sword higher.

They watched Adam battle off the lion as storm clouds gathered, dark and heavy in the sky. Crowley had never experienced rain before and he felt a touch of fear as the world darkened around him and the air grew thick and sticky in his lungs. Big, heavy, drops began to fall and Crowley felt the brush of something against his wings.

He glanced up to see Aziraphale’s wing arching over him and his heart stopped.

It shouldn’t have been possible for Crowley to remember as much of heaven as he did, but as he routinely did impossible things this did not bother him a bit. He remembered heaven in flashes and vague impressions, memories that felt more and more like dreams as time passed. He remembered how formal everything was up in the stark white halls and shiny, marble floors. The way they were expected to shy away from each other, leave enough space that their essences would never so much as graze as if touch itself was a sin.

_ Oh,  _ Crowley thought, as he shuffled closer without hesitation,  _ this one’s different.  _ And if he let his wings brush against Aziraphale’s, just a little more, well maybe that was a part of the great bloody  _ ineffable  _ plan, too.

Touch, Crowley found, was much more pleasant among humans than demons.

Humans may have their fair share of fights and rapes and murders, but unlike hell their good traditions seemed to far outnumber the bad. They shook hands and kissed and rubbed each other’s backs for the simple pleasure of being  _ touched _ . They slept curled together, even in the dead of summer, and would often grab each other as if to say nothing more than  _ I’m here _ . They had also become quite inventive at making love, which Crowley made sure he took credit for in his reports back to head office.

(To be fair, he had taught that one young man how to do that thing with his tongue. Even if humans couldn’t quite achieve the same effect without a small miracle or two.)

Some touches, Crowley found, felt different than others. When he ran into Aziraphale in Jerusalem, the first thing he did was hold out his hand. It took Crowley a moment to realize what he was doing, and a second more to choke down his amusement and grasp it.

Aziraphale’s fingers curled around his own and suddenly it wasn’t amusing at all. The skin was warm and soft beneath Crowley’s hand and where his fingers were resting he could feel the slightest hint of Aziraphale’s pulse. His heart was beating as fast and strong as Crowley’s own.

“Pleasure to meet you, angel,” Crowley said sarcastically. As he pulled away, he let his fingers slide against Aziraphale’s palm and the angel’s cheeks flushed.  _ Interesting _ .

It became a sort of game, not that Aziraphale knew he was playing. Crowley never touched him long enough that it would make the average passerby do so much as blink. In fact, sometimes it was better when he didn’t quite touch him. Crowley liked to inch his way as close as he could and watch Aziraphale eye the space between them, the longing clear on his face, as much as he tried to hide it.

It was more satisfying, that way, and on the rare occasions that Aziraphale gave in to touch  _ him _ \- well, that felt even better. Except for the times when it was  _ too much  _ like with a brush of fingers as Crowley’s hand closed around the thermos, Aziraphale just clutching it for a moment before he let go, giving Crowley the most heartbroken look he had ever seen.

Crowley would do anything to get that look off his face. “C’mon, angel, I’ll give you a lift. Anywhere you want to go.”

“You go too fast for me Crowley.” And now Crowley was heartbroken, too.

He expected things to change between them, after that. For Aziraphale to pull away or at least try to hide that look in his eye when Crowley sat too close to him on the couch or placed his hand right next to his on their table at the Ritz, so close that all he would have to do was stretch out his fingers to reach it. He knew it would break him if Aziraphale did, but the fact that it stayed just the same as if even though Aziraphale had turned him down he couldn’t make himself go that one last step and cut Crowley away for good… that hurt, too.

When Crowley first entered Aziraphale’s body, it was a blur of sensation almost too much for him to make sense of. There was so much going on that when he looked at his own body- a sensation that made his head spin- and felt the familiar warmth in the pit of his stomach he assumed wrong.

Crowley almost huffed out a laugh. Of course he’d find his own body attractive, viewing it from the outside.

It wasn’t until he was sitting on Aziraphale’s sofa a few nights later, the angel more flustered than he had ever seen him babbling something about “the body remembering” that it sunk in. It dawned on him slowly, like ripples clearing on the surface of the water.

It took Crowley a second to process it and then another second more to get over the sheer shock. When he finally got his thoughts straight and found that Aziraphale was  _ still  _ speaking nonsense, there was only one thing to do. Crowley leaned forward and shut him up.

He woke slowly, slipping into consciousness like kicking up from the depths of a river. Sensations slid into place all around him- sunlight behind his closed eyes, the soft brush of sheets on his skin, and a warm, solid form laying beside him…

Crowley’s eyes flew open as memories flooded back.

In the stark-whiteness of Aziraphale’s room, the morning light was almost too bright. Crowley blinked until his eyes adjusted to the sight of Aziraphale sleeping beside him. He had never seen the angel sleep in all his 6,000 years of knowing him- wasn’t sure he knew  _ how  _ to sleep, to be perfectly honest- and had to blink a few more times to make sure it wasn’t some sort of hallucination.

Aziraphale was really there. He looked so peaceful in his sleep, almost  _ young  _ if that word could be applied to either of them, as if years of fear had slid off his back. His legs were warm where they tangled with Crowley’s and the sheets only covered half his chest, the rest soft, warm skin that Crowley ached to touch.

It took a moment for it to sink in that he  _ could  _ touch. Carefully, he reached out and ran a 

gentle hand up the smooth planes of Azirphale’s back. He didn’t notice that Aziraphale’s eyes were open until the angel let out a soft sigh and curled closer into him.

“Goodmorning love,” he murmured into the crook of Crowley’s neck and Crowley felt the burn travel all the way down his chest. Aziraphale reached up and ran his fingers through Crowley’s hair, letting it tangle gently in his fingers.

“‘Morning, angel.” Crowley leaned over to kiss him as he gently pushed Aziraphale onto his back. Moving to kneel between his legs, he pressed another kiss to Aziraphale’s lips. He moved down to kiss his neck. Aziraphale arched his head backwards and Crowley couldn’t help but suck marks into the skin he revealed, leaving Aziraphale squirming and moaning below him.

He had been too desperate to fully appreciate Aziraphale’s body the night before and Crowley had every intention of making up for the loss. He kissed across Aziraphale’s stomach, treasuring the softness he found there. Aziraphale grew more breathless as he moved downwards. There was a fine smattering of blonde hairs below Aziraphale’s belly button and Crowley followed it with his tongue, stopping just above Aziraphale’s cock.

“Crowley  _ plea-” _

Crowley pulled away completely and Aziraphale whined.

He moved to the end of the bed. Lifting Aziraphale’s leg, he gave a gentle peck to the sole of Aziraphale’s foot. Aziraphale let out a surprised giggle and the smile he gave Crowley was so precious that he couldn’t help but smile back. 

“Patience is a virtue, angel,” he said as he moved to kiss the rest of the way up Aziraphale’s calf. He slowed as he reached Aziraphale’s thighs, his kisses becoming more open mouthed as he moved upwards.

Aziraphale was panting by the time he reached his hip and Crowley hovered over his cock, heat rushing through him at the proof of just how badly Aziraphale wanted him. He glanced upwards to find the expression on Aziraphale’s face absolutely  _ wrecked _ , his pupils blown large with arousal, his lips red from Crowley’s kisses.

Crowley smirked and Aziraphale made a wheezing noise like he had been punched.

“No- Crowley, _oh my God_.” Crowley swept down to kiss up Aziraphale’s other leg. He _needed_ to taste every inch of them, and the noises Aziraphale was making made it well worth it. _Had he really just used the Lord’s name in vain?_ Crowley would tease him for it later, but right now he was too breathless to speak.

The moment he reached the top off the other hip Crowley moved to lick a stripe up Aziraphale’s cock. Aziraphale tangled a hand into Crowley’s hair, not pushing but just  _ holding  _ him there, like he needed something to hold on to. He couldn’t seem to help bucking his hips when Crowley’s mouth closed around him and when Crowley moved to pin them down he moaned even louder.

It only took a few bobs of Crowley’s head for Aziraphale to gasp, “Crowley- I’m gonna-”

Crowley sucked harder and Aziraphale soared over the edge, his entire body jerking as he cried Crowley’s name. As soon as he finished Crowley moved a desperate hand to his own cock and began to move it in fast, jerky strokes. It was mere seconds before he followed Aziraphale over the edge, climaxing so hard his arms collapsed beneath him.

He came back to reality to Aziraphale wrapping his arms around him. Crowley was pressed to his chest and he let his eyes slip shut, reveling in the warmth beneath him.

They lay there, wrapped together, Aziraphale’s hand stroking Crowley’s hair until Aziraphale’s stomach rumbled loudly. He smothered his giggle into Crowley’s skin and then pulled back. The cold instantly rushed in the space he left behind and it took all of Crowley’s strength not to pull him back. 

He didn’t hold back his groan as Aziraphale pulled his hand free. “We can’t stay here all day, dear.”

Crowley stretched further into the bed, “Why not?”

“Because I am  _ hungry _ . Now get up, we are getting crepes.”

Crowley had learned, many times over the years, the Aziraphale rarely did things halfway. From the tiniest miracles to universe-altering decisions he was either in or he  _ wasn’t  _ and there was no amount of persuasion that could change his mind.

Which was why it shouldn’t have surprised him when, as they stepped out of the door, Aziraphale tangled their fingers together. Crowley’s first instinct was to pull away as he searched their surroundings blindly for any sign of one of  _ their  _ kind. Aziraphale’s grip just tightened and he spoke, soft and slow like he was speaking to a frightened child, “It’s okay, Crowley. It’s just you and me now. They can’t touch us anymore.”

Crowley looked around. There was a couple walking down the sidewalk across from them with a child bouncing happily between them. Crossing the street was an old woman arm-in-arm with a man young enough to be her grandson, laughing at a comment too far away to make out. There was a group of teenagers passing by the shop, dressed rough in leather jackets and colorful hair but one smiled at them as they passed and Crowley let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding.

“You’re right,” he said, just as soft. “Just you and me.”

Their new-found freedom didn’t make Aziraphale’s touch any less hypnotizing. He kept their hands tangled together all the way to the bakery and the talk with the woman behind the counter, only releasing it when they settled together into the small booth. Even then he sat so close to Crowley that their legs were pressed together from knee to hip.

For the first time in his life, Crowley could  _ feel  _ the wiggle Aziraphale gave when the crepes were brought to their table, the happiness practically radiating off him. Aziraphale somehow managed to look both devastatingly angelic and absolutely  _ sinful  _ as he ate and Crowley was mesmerized by the sight of him bringing the first bite to his mouth. He chewed slowly, treasuring it, and let out a moan. Crowley’s throat went so dry that he had to look away and it was only out of the corner of his eye that he saw the smirk Aziraphale shot him.

His hand shot out to stop Aziraphale’s next bite. “Wait a minute, did you just do that  _ on purpose? _ ”

Aziraphale blinked at him, the perfect picture of angelic innocence. “Do what on purpose, dear?” He couldn’t keep the smirk from curling up his lips.

“You did!” Crowley said, indignant. “You- you moaned like, like…” Aziraphale raised an eyebrow and Crowley hissed the rest under his breath, “Like a damn common whore!”

Aziraphale looked amused. “I think you’re being a tad over dramatic Crowley.”

“How long,” Crowley demanded, ignoring the response, “have you been trying to tempt me?”

Aziraphale studied his crepes as if they held the answer. “Oh, it wasn’t intentional at first. You remember the first time we got food together?”

Crowley thought back. “Oysters?”

Aziraphale nodded. “In Rome. I’m sure you’re aware of the more… intimate associations that come with the food.” 

Crowley felt himself flush. He hadn’t then, but when he had discovered that little fact it had set his mind on fantasies of how that night could have ended differently. He had wondered, then, if Aziraphale had known too, but had quickly disregarded it as something to depraved for an angel to consider. If he had known him then like he did now, he would have been certain of the opposite.

“I have to admit that I was intrigued by you that night. You were more subdued than I had ever seen you, and I wanted to bait you into… some emotion, I wasn’t quite sure. I moaned just to see your reaction and you-”

“Choked on my wine, I remember,” Crowley muttered, flushing even deeper. It wasn’t one of his smoother moments.

Aziraphale smirked, the bastard. “It was long after you began tempting me, I’m sure.”

In truth, it wasn’t, but Crowley allowed the comment to slide as Aziraphale took his next bite. His moan was choked off halfway by a laugh and Crowley had to slap his back to keep him from choking. 

“ _ Angel _ ,” he whined and Aziraphale gave him a smile almost too fond to bear.

“I’m sorry, I had to one last time.”

Crowley snorted “I don’t believe for one second that that was the last time.”

Aziraphale smiled, “Maybe not the  _ last  _ last time. But it’s become rather unnecessary now that I can touch you as much as I want.” He leaned further into Crowley’s side as if to prove the point and Crowley wrapped an arm around him. It felt ridiculously good, to be able to hold Aziraphale without worrying about the wrath of heaven or hell, and Crowley basked in the warmth of his body pressed against his own.

“I love you.” The words seemed to fall out of Crowley’s mouth without his permission and he felt the burn travel all the way to his toes.

Aziraphale just snuggled closer, “I love you too, dear.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] A Touch of Light](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23154274) by [Djapchan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Djapchan/pseuds/Djapchan)




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